


In Which Beedle has a Stressful Week

by ViBeingVi



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker
Genre: Adventure, Beedle and Link, Canon-Typical Violence, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Minor Canonical Character(s), Mute Link (Legend of Zelda), Nonbinary Character, Rare Pair, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21835165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViBeingVi/pseuds/ViBeingVi
Summary: Beedle finds himself waylaid by adventure, and gets to know his most regular customer. Along the way he finds panic, a little too much danger, and even the beginnings of love.
Relationships: Beedle/Link (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 98





	1. In Which Beedle is Accosted by a Bokoblin

_One foot in front of the other._ Beedle thought.

He was making good time! Only a few more hours and he’d be sitting warm and dry beneath the tent of a stable-house. Goodness, if his luck held out he’d only get rained on for about and hour! The rain wasn’t pleasant, but the monsters would stay off the road.

The weight of his bag dug his soles in with an audible crunch. It was once his height and thrice his width, and he carried everything he needed inside. He had product, all his life's necessities, and near the top was his prized beetle box. He’d scavenged an antique lockbox from an old ruined house. It’s ornamented glass top was perfect for observing his collection of beetles through. A horn constructed of fabric and wood towered into the sky. It served to attract repeat customers and ward off predators both! It was his most constant and familiar companion.

Something tugged on the bag, and weighed it down. He heard a breathy snort and a metallic clang. He pivoted. His cooking pot and ladle were tossed out on the road. Someone was tossed off into a patch of tall grass. Its attempt to cling on ripped the cloth before landing with a softened thud. 

A Bokoblin clambered out from the tall grass. The short monster stood half Beedle’s height with a head just a wide. Its soulless blue eyes popped out from it’s leathery red skin. In one hand it held a rusty old sword. In the other an unhappily writhing Hearty Lizard. That thief! Also Beedle’s life was in danger!

“Oh… a Hearty Lizard? That’ll be 20 rupees! Does that sound good to you?” Beedle said sheepishly. 

Beedle admonished his merchants instincts and reminded himself that there was a time and a place to do business. He backed away nervously. The Bokoblin scampered toward him with an unnerving bounce in its step. It’s hoglike nose limply bobbled with each footfall. Beedle’s knees clattered together in fear. He tripped and fell onto his rear.

The Bokoblin soon loomed over Beedle as much as a creature of a Bokoblin’s stature could loom. Beedle felt the burden of its narrowing and gluttonous gaze. He scrambled backwards desperate to put distance between them. His hand smashed against the cooking pot and sent it flying. A string of wiry pain shot up Beedle’s arm. The Bokoblin pounced at the opportunity. Beedle brung up the pot’s lid like a shield and shut his eyes tight.

Wood cracked beneath iron. When Beedle opened his eyes the tip of the sword hovered not two finger’s width from his eye. He laughed nervously. His free hand brushed against the wooden ladle. Scared and desperate he grabbed hold and swung with all his might. The cup clapped the Bokoblin square in the face. It reeled back in surprise and rubbed it’s cheek with the pommel of the sword. Beedle didn’t give it time to recover. He swung again and again in righteous indignation. 

“You detestable pig-thing! You uncaring nasty pig-thing!” He screamed, every other word punctuated by the pap of a blow. “You dig through my bag! And steal my product!”

Utterly unprepared for such a vigorous assault the Bokoblin retreated. It’s face was peppered with bumps and welts. The ladle itself had begun to splinter in two places. Then, unceremoniously, the Bokoblin disappeared back through the grass. Too late Beedle realized the monster still had his Lizard in its grip. He tossed down the ladle in anger breaking it completely.

Turning back he saw a heart-rending sight. His antique wooden lockbox had fallen out of the bag. It laid on the ground, its glass top shattered on the gravel road. His most precious collection of six whole beetles had gotten free. He watched his only Electric Rhino Beetle open its elytra and lift itself away, up further and further until it was out of Beedles sight.

“Oh Phoo!” bemoaned Beedle.

A single crack of thunder preempted the beginning of moderate showers. Sullenly he arched his head to the sky. 

“Oh! Thaaaaaaank yoooooou!” he shouted, shaking his ruined pot lid at the goddesses.

Angrily Beedle lugged his torn bag toward a hilltop tree. All the way small items slipped out onto the slick grass. He curled beneath the protection of the oak while lying on his bag for support. He decided it was time for a nap, and began drifting into sleep. His last thoughts before falling unconscious were _“What a most awful day.”_


	2. In Which Beedle Seeks Shelter from a Storm

Beedles nap was ended by a violent crack of thunder. The light rain from earlier had built into a powerful mid-summer storm. Rain was falling at a slant. Clouds blanketed the sky leaving no light but the sickly yellow glow of thunderbolts forming in their bellies. 

His own belly grumbled. There were a few shelled nuts in the pockets of his shorts. Sifting through his bag he found a couple soggy slices of meal bread. They tasted like pasty flour and rainwater.

 _I had some leftover soup in my pot! Curse that Bokoblin!_ Beedle thought.

He tried to contain a growing sense of panic. Images of how he might meet his demise sunk to the bottom of his mind like pebbles sinking through molasses. _If I die I can never upsell again!_ he thought. He was almost overwhelmed by emotion; anger at himself for letting this happen, self pity, lamentation, and fear. _Don’t panic_ , he thought. _Do not panic. Find Shelter._

He squinted and put his hand on his brow to block the deluge of the storm. Five hundred meters away Beedle could see the canopy of a forest. He hoped there would be berries to forage or someplace dry enough to shelter in. Wearily, Beedle lifted his bag onto his shoulders and trotted down the hill.

The horn of his backpack towered into the sky. He knew lightning tended to strike the tallest object. His knees sloshed in the mud and he bent forward, bringing the horn down parallel with the ground. His hands sunk beneath the muck pushing it between his fingers. He crawled, but it felt just as much like swimming as crawling. His bag shifted awkwardly back and forth on his back. He wondered how strange he would have looked if anyone could see him.

When he reached the thicket he stood back up. His hands pushed against a tree to steady himself, and let his lungs fill with warm humid air. _Thank the Goddesses_ he thought _I'm so glad to be out of the rain._ He flicked his wrists to get the mud off his hands. In the forest, something snarled in confusion. Beedle turned his head up and was horrified. Bulbous blue eyes floated above the ground. His eyes meet them. He knew they had certainly seen him.

“Oh! Oh Phooey!” Beedle exclaimed.

He fled. Bits of merchandise tumbled from the tear in his pack. A warhorn sounded from deeper in the trees. Beedle figured he had stumbled onto a whole camp! The goddesses must have cursed him with such rotten luck! An arrow flew past him and embedded itself in the mud. He took a panicked glance over his shoulder.

Two Bokoblins were right on his heels. A third was near the woods with a bow, and it loosed another arrow. Beedle turned a hard 90 degrees to dodge the shot. One of his pursuers screamed and dropped it’s club. It grasped towards it’s back writhing at an arrow embedded in it’s shoulder. The archer realized it’s mistake then threw down it’s bow, hoping maybe if the weapon wasn’t in it’s hand its companions wouldn’t notice what it had done.

Beedle grabbed for the club. The screaming Bokoblin was hit on the head by the horn of Beedle’s bag. It was slammed face first into the mud. He brought the club up to parry a wild swing. His hand twisted sharply. He tried to returned a blow, but it was blocked. He had to give ground. His senses began to take in everything they could fueled by desperation. 

Suddenly a boomerang curved up from behind. Strings of charge raced across it’s sharpened surface. Beedle was so close he could see the leader of a lightning bolt twist and coil down. The boomerang cut into the Bokoblins nose exactly when the leader connected. He shut his eyes tight as if to smother the light just by squeezing his eyelids together hard enough. He pawed at his ears to try and lessen the awful ringing. His assaulted senses begrudgingly lurched towards focus.

It was a customer! The Blonde Ranger! He was standing across from the shot Bokoblin. His two handed club caught it on the chin. It’s head rolled back and forth like a see-saw before it crumpled to the ground. The Bokoblin that had been struck by the bolt stared back up at Beedle with hollowed out gray husks for eyes. It smelt of burnt leather. 

The Ranger set his club onto his back. Beedle admired how he could lift such a weapon with his lean, nimble arms and how his shoulders held the burden. The Ranger turned his attention towards Beedle, and greeted him with a friendly smile. Beedle smiled back and felt butterflies in his stomach. The Ranger stepped closer. The butterflies began to dart around like an agitated swarm. He reached to take a helping hand. But just behind the Ranger was the third Bokoblin. It’s arms were raised high above its head with a rusty sword.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Beedle shouted.

Beedle flung his club. The Ranger ducked, rolled, and wheeled around. His bow’s drawstring was taught. The club hit the Bokoblin in the ribs, then sparked into blue shrapnel. The Bokoblin was lifted off its feet. All its muscles went limp at once, and it folded in on itself. Mr. Ranger loosed an arrow that threaded through the tangle of limbs and found its mark on the underside of the Bokoblins chin. It gurgled and died. He turned to Beedle and gave another unperturbed smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second Draft - 2/10/20
> 
> Edits are wording and clarity. Trying to make the whole story read much better, less amateurish. If you read updates still would love to hear and criticism! Thanks! 
> 
> ~Vi


	3. In Which Beedle and the Ranger Make Camp

Beedle had seen the skull shaped abodes monsters dwelt in before. Their visages peered down from cliff sides or stood at the center of fields. 

He tried very hard to avoid them. 

Bokoblins had proven bad enough, let alone the other creatures could dwell within them. This close their entrances looked like a drooling maw ready to swallow him whole. Outside were signs of skirmish. The skull’s ‘cheek’ had been scorched. Weapons and bits of dead Bokoblin laid scattered in the mud. 

_How many other travelers weren’t as lucky as I?_ Beedle pondered. 

__

__The Ranger waved him closer with an over-wide scooping motion and a hand on his hip. He seemed to mind neither the rain nor the carnage. Inside it was near barren. The only furnishing was a log the monsters had used for both rest and weapons practice. Rain trickled in from the open eyes. Moss webbed out to cover half the circumference of the wall and ceiling. The air was cool and humid. Beedle shivered._ _

__

The Ranger marched to the center of the room. He set his tablet on the floor and began to poke at it with his finger. The tablet chimed and the cave echoed the sound like doublets, going _pli-plink, pli-plink, pli-plink,_. Blue light shone from the top of it. Ancient engravings around the trim glowed orange. The ranger stopped tapping and slid his fingers across the tablet like he was trying to pick up a sheet of paper flush with the ground. Blue light changed to white light. Beedle was amazed as the ranger pulled a bundle of wood from it’s surface, like a squirrel emerging from behind the brim of a charlatan’s hat. Further the ranger pulled out some flint, a traveler's spear, four wooden spears and three slabs of uncooked meat. 

___ _

_What an efficient way to store product! _Beedle thought._ _

___ _

___Three steaks went on sticks. The fourth to dry Beedle’s soaked shirt. He’d only understood what the Ranger wanted after a round of pointing and charades. The ranger had pointed at his chest, stomped noisily in the mud, and finally tugged his own shirt by the collar before Beedle understood what he wanted._ _ _

___ _

___The ranger placed the wood at the center of the circle and the flint on the edge of the pile. He motioned for Beedle to stand back. The ranger stood at attention. His spear was set with the tip straight in the air and his feet were square with his shoulders. Despite it being a formal posture the ranger seemed to relax. His motion was calm, fluid, and rote._ _ _

___ _

___He shifted his stance to bring the head of the spear to bare. It reeled back and forth in a snap. The tip glanced off the flint dragging a spark straight through the heart of the faggot. Yet there was no cracking of sticks. The campfire roared to life. On the backstroke there followed a streak of flame that dissipated as the head returned to its starting place. Beedle was gobsmacked. There was such beauty in the ranger’s display. In the discipline of his form! In the light of he flames! In the novelty! Beedle began to clap._ _ _

___ _

___The Ranger reflexively turned the spear on Beedle. It’s head stopped so close that a gentle breeze rolled over his nose. His stance was perfect. His spacing was perfect. Had he been an actual threat the ranger could have skewered him in the same motion with no issue._ _ _

___ _

___“Oh! Oh! I apologize Mr. Ranger! Oh! Please don’t hurt me sir! Surrender! Parley!!!” He begged throwing his hands up into the air._ _ _

___ _

___At this the Ranger lifted his spear. The wide eyed scowl on his face changed to a frown and he turned his head away. His free hand grabbed his other wrist and squeezed it hard._ _ _

___ _

___“Please forgive me.” Beedle said softer, so not to alarm him again. “I just wanted to thank you. You saved me from those awful Bokoblins and have treated me very kind. I didn’t mean to alarm you. Really! Sometimes I blurt something out so quick I don't even know what I’m saying...”_ _ _

___ _

___Beedle was interrupted by the Ranger patting his shoulder. He looked up into sympathetic eyes, warm like the camp fire reflected across their surface. A gentle squeeze and a pat told Beedle it was okay, that it was fine. Beedle smiled embarrassed. The ranger laid down his spear and sat beside it. He rested his knees on his chin. Beedle set himself down an eighth of the circle away, His legs were outstretched, his soles facing the fire. He leaned back on his hands and let the dry warmth comfort him._ _ _

___ _

___“So. Why do you think weapons explode into blue sparks like that when you throw them? Even when their brand new?” Beedle pondered aloud. The Ranger raised his eyebrows and nodded his head, like he’d never thought about it before but was thinking about it now._ _ _


	4. In Which Beedle Gets a Beetle

Taking stock the next morning Beedle realized how much his misadventure had cost; two Hearty Lizards, seven Darners, three Restless Crickets, a bundle of ten arrows. He was missing his cooking pot and several days rations from his supplies. There was also his injuries to account for; a scraped knee, his bruised pride, the loss of his beloved beetle collection and broken lock box. He had even lost his ledger to write it all down in. The safe assumption was that he was in the red.

His poor bag had seen better days. The wood skeleton that formed the shape of the horn had caved inwards. Bits of dowel rod had poked through the fabric. Somewhere an elixir had cracked and stained the fabric a sickening yellow color like a bug’s guts. The whole thing looked like Beedle had reprimanded it too harshly and it deflated from the criticism. It would take most of the day to get it back into traveling condition. The horn would have to wait until the next stable. Thankfully he hadn’t lost his needle and thread down in his personal pouch.

The Ranger had been restless. He’d run off for thirty minutes at a time before gliding back into the Bokoblin camp from a clifftop. Before Beedle had even gotten up he had taken it upon himself to scour the forest and nearby field for whatever could be salvaged. When it came time for lunch he climbed up a thick tree and stole some bird eggs straight out the nest. Then he rekindled the fire to cook four more steaks. Later he dashed full speed past the cave a honeycomb in his arms and a full swarm of bees in pursuit. 

He was doubling back when he let out an audible gasp. Beedle was intrigued. This was the closest thing the Ranger had spoken to a word. So he stuck his threaded needle into an undamaged patch of cloth and made way towards the outside. Beedle saw the Ranger staring intensely at a tree. He followed his eye line and felt a rush of excitement. On a tree was a single Rugged Rhino Beetle. It was perfectly still. The midday sunlight reflected off its exoskeleton just right so to gave away its camouflage against the bark. 

The Ranger crouched down low. He tread light on the gravel, delicately putting down toe then heel. Beedle held his breath, watching the ranger tip toe his way closer to the tree. When he was a body length away the Ranger sprung off like a Restless Cricket. He swung his arm from above, catching the beetle right as it took flight. Cupping the precious insect in his hand he jogged up to Beedle grinning.

“Did you just catch that with your bare hands?” Beedle asked. 

The ranger affirmed with a single decisive nod.

“You don’t use a beat sheet or a net or anything?” He pressed, incredulously. 

The ranger vigorously shook his head no.

Beedle’s mind reeled. Every beetle the ranger had given him had been caught by hand. Over the last few months the Ranger had sold him hundreds of critters. Dozens of Lizards! Hundreds of Darners! He felt his body tingling with excitement when the Ranger stretched out his arms, offering Beedle his catch.

“Wow.” Beedle muttered beneath his breath. “Thank you.”


	5. In Which Beedle Reassures his New Friend

Beedle was sewing well into twilight. He had made the necessary patches from a Bokoblin’s shirt. It’s spotted pattern clashed with the dark beige cloth of his beetle’s carapace. It felt oily to the touch and hadn’t stopped reeking after three long dips in clean water. He knew that stable jockeys kept spare leather he could barter for. But the only place dedicated to textiles was in Hateno Village, far to the east. A final stitch by firelight and he was finished with his work. Beedle stood and stretched and yawned. He’d have to be up by dawn to start his march.

He considered his options. The first was to go north. He had initially come all this way to sell Warm Darners in the Tabanthan Snowfields. But now he’d need to stew them for Heating Elixirs just to withstand the cold. Following down that road was the Rito Village. Their merchant sold Tabanthan Wheat, which would sell well back in the east where it didn’t grow. But it was the far more circuitous route and he didn’t know how long his patch job would hold. Otherwise he’d have to cut his losses and trek back south the way he came. It was safer, with all the stables lining the flatland. Beedle missed a warm bed either way.

 _I wonder where Mr. Ranger is headed?_ He thought.

It was pleasant and warm out. When he looked up beyond the treeline he could see the sun beginning to set. Rays of light slipped between the leaves, bathing the undergrowth in a gradient of orange light and shadowy gray. Sunset Fireflies had begun flashing their yellow-green abdomens. Then something caught Beedle’s eye. Amid the other colors was one speck of blue. A bio-luminescent flower was peaking out from behind a tree. Curiosity lured him out of the cave.

He’d never seen a flower like it before. There was a single adult bloom among several dying buds. It’s petals were white on the outside and blue towards the center. A cluster of stamens arced out by two finger’s length. It was like a constellation had formed a foot from the ground. There was this queer feeling bubbling up inside Beedle. He reached out and plucked it. It occurred to him that what he had done was rash, that the flower might have been rare. But twisting the stem between his fingers and feeling the waxy coating on the petals comforted him.

Beedle was surprised to see the Ranger sitting on top of the cave facing away from him. His knees were held close to his chest by his hugging arms. Something kept his attention. 

“Oh! Hello sir! I wasn’t sure you were coming back!” Beedle called.

The Ranger did not stir. Beedle began to worry.

“I know you are a man of few words, but Beedle would appreciate it if you could signal if you are well?” Beedle continued.

Still there was nothing. Beedle felt that whatever now was bringing his companion low, it was his obligation to assist. It was the very least he could do in return for his rescue. He climbed atop one of the platforms the Bokoblins had used as a vantage point. Gauging the distance he knew he couldn't breach the gap unassisted. The Ranger remained unresponsive to his calls.

Instead he rushed back into the cave, dislodged one of the wooden spears from the ground, and hastily ate the leftover steak lunch hanging from the pointy end. It was still delicious. Clamoring back up he readied himself by kneeling down and affixing the flower in his shirt collar. Then he dashed forward and lowered the spear. The point dug into the wood. Beedle let his momentum carry him up and forward. He pushed back hard like he was rowing an invisible boat through tumultuous waters. The landing was without grace. He rolled over teakettle before stopping splayed out right in front of the Ranger. He rose hurriedly swatting dust off his shirt. 

“Im so sorry to make a scene, don’t mind Beedle please!” he said apologetically. “But now that I have your attention are you okay?”

The Ranger stirred in discomfort at the question and looked away. Beedle looked into the distance and felt a pang of sympathy echo in his heart. The Ranger had been staring at the old seat of the Bosphoramus’ Dynasty, Hyrule Castle. Beedle had been told by those more knowledgeable than he that the great edifice had been corrupted since before anyone now alive was born. A sinister purple smog swirled up and down the tallest towers like a veil of poison. Staring long enough the smoke would form into the shape of a massive monstrous boar’s head. He squatted besides the Ranger and put a hand of commiseration on his shoulder.

“Try not to think about it too much. It worries me too. It seems so big and awful and ever present. But all we can do really is try and live our lives.” Beedle advised. 

His words elicited anger rather than comfort. The Ranger’s hand dropped to an ornate sword at his side. All his knuckles popped and went white in a vice grip. His gaze turned back towards the castle now awash with pensive resolve. Tears pooled in his eyes. His grimacing lips began to quiver. He went to wipe away the tears without realizing he was still gripping the blade. Beedle patiently leaned clear content to let him feel what he needed to.

“I know, sir. I know” Beedle cooed. He pulled the flower from his shirt and held it out. “Take a look at this.”

The Ranger’s eyes widened. Beedle thought he saw recognition in his face.

“Have you seen one of these before? Beedle hasn’t. Isn’t it so pretty?” He asked. Then he motioned to the castle.

“On one hand you could keep staring at that. It makes you feel helpless, scared, and sad. Or you can keep your eyes on the road. Stop, and appreciate the flowers.” he waxed poetically, handing the flower over to punctuate his point.

Unexpectedly, the Ranger took the flower and laced it into his hair like a hibiscus. The sun had sunk to below the treeline leaving only the shades of red in the evening sky to mark its passing. The light of the flower highlighted the Ranger’s most delicate features; the tired softness in his eyes, his thin nose, his subtle lips and smooth chin. The wet lines where his tears had rolled down his faced glistened ethereally. He was beautiful. Beedle knew he was blushing but couldn’t stop it.

“That… that suits you very well.” He managed to stammer out.

The Ranger smiled. It was a vulnerable smile, lacking his usual unflappable affectation. The Ranger placed his own hand on Beedle’s shoulder in turn. They spent a few minutes in quiet waiting for dark to fall, lit by a little blue flower.

“So.” Beedle began after the sun finally set. “Are you heading north or south?”


	6. In Which Beedle Goes to Bed at a Reasonable Hour

The pair had continued northward together, towards the Serenne Stable. Beedle gazed long into the horizon. In the distance he could see the silhouette of a horse’s head rising above a ring of trees. He jump and clicked his heels. The Ranger dashed past him chugging a blue elixir. 

“Hello and also bye!” Beedle called after him.

Over the course of the last few days Beedle had observed how curious the Ranger was. He could not just walk straight down the road. Everything was worthy of distraction. He picked flowers, he climbed rocks, he hunted deer or boar with ruthless efficiency. But he would cross back over Beedle’s path every once in a while. It was like, for now, he was literally the Ranger’s center of attention.

The denizens of the stable swarmed Beedle the moment he came into view. It was his favorite part of his profession. People were always in need something and he could provide. It made him feel wanted. His tardiness had caused an increased demand for his wares, and he sold all of his remaining stock. The sound of Rupees clinking together brought him satisfaction.

He approached the Stable master and splurged on a soft bed. It would put him deeper in the red. But the last few days had been so eventful. A good nights sleep would let him think things over. He hoped it would help his aching body too. A nagging voice told him he was rationalizing an unnecessary expenditure. He quashed that little voice. The soft bed was wonderful. It was stuffed with wool instead of hay. When he laid down he sunk until the stuffing was hugging him on every side. He didn’t need to adjust himself. His limbs grew heavy. His awareness was smothered with comfort.

Then he was traveling down a gravel path. He sat upon his bag which now had legs made of a complex network of dowel rods. They rose smoothly then released, falling to the ground by the force of gravity. He bounced in his seat with every step. Little orange lights were embedded in the joints holding it together with magic. He yelped with delight. Now his method of travel was also his storage space! Beedle just loved elegant solutions.

When he looked up the sky was dominated by the beautiful blue flower which had grown to be gigantic. It’s stamen hung higher than any mountain and glowed so bright it was like the day was a different color. Beedle found reigns in his hands and he snapped them. He expected to speed up. Instead two elytra raised themselves and wings unfurled. The stitching was vibrant in color and matched the pattern of a real beetle’s wings. He began to hover. He snapped the reigns again and he took off. 

The beetle rounded the stem in wide lazy circles. The land was filled with Stables and towns. The glowing lights of civilization dotted across the horizon. He couldn’t think of specifics, but he could feel how successful his traveling market had become. He could feel all the people smiled when he would arrive. He could feel how heavy his Rupee pouch was hanging at his side.

Beedle spotted the Ranger nestled inside the bloom. One leg was dangling over the edge. They spotted one another and smiled. He brought his beetle around to land high on a petal. The Ranger was craning his head back to watch him land. Beedle rolled forward. But he landed next to the Ranger and slotted into his arms. His head nestled on his shoulder. The Ranger brought his arm around and pulled him in. His arms were strong. They sat there wordless, in a perfect moment. He absorbed the vista of a flourishing nation through a blue haze, enjoyed the closeness of such a kind and beautiful soul. It was a contentment that he hadn't known he was missing. A sense of safety and security. 

Then warbling came from above. A Bokoblin crashed through the flower. His beetle bag was knocked off its petal. It’s wings were shattered, their broken forms clicking and twisting trying to right its fall. The monster bounced off a different petal shaking the couple loose from their seats. Beedle threw his arms around one of the stamen which bent under his weight. He slid down off the safety of the bloom to dangle over open sky. He had to wrap his legs around to keep his hold.

More and more Bokoblins began falling from the sky. The mountains were covered with them like fire ants. A battalion of them were climbing the stem. The flower continued to shake. The Ranger stood in the bloom, stabbing monsters in the face with a spear when they got close. He was surrounded.

“Help!” Beedle shouted. “Please Mr. Ranger! Help!”

To his horror, the Ranger responded in his own voice.

“You have to help yourself sometimes.”

Then Beedle lost his grip. Bugs crawled around in his stomach. He tried to scream, but instead a swarm of beetles flew out. Their hundreds of little legs climbed up the inside of his throat. Wings slapped against his tongue and cheeks and face. He forced his mouth shut. The bugs made him feel nauseous but he refused to open his mouth again. The lights from the towns were blinking out one after the other. Looking below he saw the ring of trees marking Serenne Stable. The horse’s head looked up at him in pain. Monsters had set the stable alight. Beedle saw all his customers from that day running or cowering or burning or slain. The horse screamed with his voice too. 

“The Goddesses are displeased! They must be displeased!” it screeched.

Beedle chose to shut his eyes. He pretended like he was flying again on his beetle, or that the Ranger hadn’t meant what he said and was going to catch him before he hit the ground. He heard the horse head whinny in pain, the roaring of fire. Bokoblins cackled and Hylians lamented. 

He shot straight up in his bed with a start. Sweat beaded down his forehead. His heart was beating so fast he could hear it in his ears. The stable was lit by a single torch. The stable-hand, a young woman named Zumi, quietly swept the floor. She saw Beedle and gave a sympathetic look.

“The soft bed’ll do that sometimes. You’re safe sweet pea.” She said in a rustic drawl.

Beedle whispered “That happens to everyone?”

“Sure does.” she admitted, “seems folks can only sort through their problems with a good nights rest.”

Beedle was having trouble getting back to sleep. When he passed Zumi, she brushed his shoulder.

“No refunds, sugar.” She joked.

He cracked a smile. “Do you ever get to sleep on the soft bed?”

“When there ain’t nobody here we draw straws.” she replied.

“From the other beds?” Beedle asked.

Zumi grinned wide and mischievous. “Sure. Make the wool look valuable by comparison.” 

“Oh!” Beedle raised his eyebrows and nodded impressed. “I should hire you as a consultant.”

“Oh, I could never leave here.” Zumi said.

“If you get the chance, Beedle thinks you should,at least once.” He replied breaking away towards the exit. “You never know who you might meet.” 

The chilly night air stripped away the veneer of warmth that followed him from his bed. He removed his last Warm Darners and some Bokoblin’s horns from his bag and started cooking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 2/28
> 
> I added a conversation at the end that I wrote for a different version of the next part. I enjoyed the interaction so I added it in.
> 
> ~Via, Vi


	7. In Which Beedle Cuts a Deal

Beedle felt like heat was leaking out of him like water from a punctured waterskin. He pulled out a beaker. Inside was a glossy orange liquid which he gave a stir before popping off the cork. It tasted like Spicy Peppers with the texture of hot cider. Warmth returned to him starting from his ankles snaking up his spine and settling in his head like booze without the buzz. Whenever he went to the Tabanthan Snowfields he’d go through fifteen flasks of Warming Elixer. The folks at Serenne stable would get annoyed because he’d take up the communal pot for a whole day mixing them. His explanation of the “Tragedy of the Commons” did not dissuade their anger. 

This time he’d had enough for three. He was trying to reach Snowfield Stable by nightfall. That was as long as his supply would last. Snow was falling. The clouds blotted out the sun so he couldn’t tell the time of day. The buildup of powder was weighing down his pack and slowing his pace. He’d chosen this route because that where the Ranger was going. But Beedle hadn’t seen him since he’d rushed off for the last stable. A gust of wind blew past him, he shivered even through his potion. 

“Oh Hey! Beedle!” called a voice.

It was Yammo, a local northern merchant. She was marching south, her Donkey trudging behind her. Beedle eyed the creature carefully. Pack steeds and his family hadn't gotten along going back for generations. His father, Beedle XII, had been missing a pinky he claimed a mule had bit off in his youth. He had never given the creatures a chance at his hands. 

“Hello Yammo.” he said flatly.

She smiled. “Don’t be like that pal! Did you run into trouble along the road?” she asked, motioning to the spotted patches of cloth on his bag.

“Oh. Nothing too hard to handle.” Beedle replied

“I don’t know. You look pretty worse for wear.” she said, raising an eyebrow.

He knew what her game was. Merchants were always on the lookout for an opportunity or advantage. If she could get him to admit how bad of a shape he was in she had leverage in any forthcoming dealings. Such was the merchants way. 

“Bokoblins. A camp’s worth of them. Admittedly they took me by surprise, but I managed to fell a pair and make off with some extra material to patch the damage!” he bragged, straightening his posture and setting his hands on his hips, “Now they know not to trifle with Beedle!” 

“You must be more skilled with a blade than you look.” She said.

“I used a ladle.” he corrected.

She turned her head away, trying to hide her amusement by unbuckling a leather bag. Beedle felt angry and embarrassed. She motioned towards her donkey. “Care to take a look?”

With caution he pursued the bag. He saw some Tabanthan Wheat, which he planned to buy in bulk. He skimmed over the milk and sugar. Then he found rocks of Goron Spice. They must have gone on a long journey to make it to the snowfields. If he cooked some into a simple dish of rice, it would warm him just as well as a bottle of Warming Elixir. She removed a jar of Sunset Fireflies from his bag.

“That's five Sunset Fireflies?” He said. “How about I trade them for three bushels of wheat, and two rocks of spice?”

“I saw you didn’t have any Warm Darners or Sunset Butterflies in stock. You need those rocks. Two and two.” She countered.

“You know Beedle’s as solid as a steed.” he boasted, glancing at the beast, “I have a buyer looking for Goron Spice down south. Three, two, and I’ll toss in a Mighty Elixir.” 

“You seem to need a Mighty Elixir more than me. How about two Hightail Lizards instead?” 

“One.” 

“Deal.” 

“Deal.”

The Donkey brayed and looked ready to kick when he tried to remove the first bushel of wheat. Yammo laughed openly. She took out the rest of the product while he took the chance to clear the piles of snow on his bag gathered like capstones atop mountain peaks. By the time they parted he had to chug another elixir. 

“You know Beedle.” She told him as she was walking away. “You wouldn’t need to down so many elixirs if you just ditched the crop top.”

He huffed at this, but did not retort. He liked his crop top and rolled up pants. They were freeing! Even if he had to cross his arms over his abdomen in the freezing cold and chain chug elixirs. One needed to make sacrifices for their aesthetic, their brand! Even as the whistling wind made the joints in his fingers ache. There was no use lingering on it, he had made the decision and he had to get to the stable by nightfall.


	8. In Which Beedle is Pestered by the Communal Cooking Pot

“Have you ever seen…” Juanelle whispered as she swiveled her head side to side “… a skeleton horse?”

Beedle raised his eyebrows but didn’t take his focus off the pot. The Goron Spice and juices of browning meat melted into the rice. His ladle was held together with sun baked honey as glue and wrapped in leftover cloth. The scent reminded him of the stables on the outskirts of Death Mountain.

“I have heard of skeleton monsters, but I I have never seen any.” He replied.

“You’re telling me you’ve never been caught off the path at night?” she asked surprised.

“Beedle is both a quick and steadfast traveler.” 

She took this as answer enough to continue. “So that’s a no on Stalhorses?” 

“Negative.” Beedle stated.

“I’ve heard rumor that some live in the northern part of the snowfield, out by a massive labyrinth. But it’s so cold out here! I hardly want to wander out of the stable!” She whined.

Beedle nodded politely. “I agree, it is too cold for me here. I can not wait to have some of this curry in my belly to warm me up.”

“Oh.” Jaunelle bit her lip nervously.

“Is something the matter?” He asked.

Her voice carried the guilt of bad news. “You do know Goron Spice doesn’t protect against the cold right?”

Beedle bit his tongue instead of his lip, holding back curses. Yammo had conned him. He felt two parts fury and one part begrudging respect. “Not until just now.” he admitted.

“Im sorry.” Yammo said. 

“You did nothing wrong, and Beedle is not one to stab a messenger.” 

“Why did you come up north without warm clothes anyways?” She inquired.

Beedle noted either her tact or empathy was in short supply. “I have had a long week. Why did you whisper when you brought up the Stalhorse?” he asked back.

She frowned and crossed her arms. “The people up here have no imagination! I have some evidence pointing to their existence, horse bones in strange places that disappear overnight. Some Bokoblins have been known to ride horses. So I figure why not Stalkoblins? But Varke keeps threatening to kick me out because I ‘bother his customers’.” She said, using finger quotes over the last phrase.

“Most places of business have a no loitering policy, I am sure he does not mean it personally.” he said to try and reassure her.

“I just really need this scoop! I’m tired of that hack Traysi getting all the accolades!” she vented.

“Traysi from the Rumor Mill?” Beedle asked idly.

Juanelle angrily stood and threw up her arms in a huff. Beedle felt the sidelong glances of the other stable guests on his back. She had her back facing him with her hands on her hips. Her toes tapped the snow with a _crunch crunch crunch crunch_.

“Sore subject?” 

“You have no idea!” she said pivoting back towards him, “It’s not that shes successful. It’s that she doesn’t follow up on her sources and she’s successful anyways. Have you ever read Rumor Mill Volume 5?”

“The one about Dragons?”

“Yes! Did you catch that her sources were children? I tracked them down! They were eight! At the oldest.” she ranted. 

Beedle pulled out a pair of serving dishes from his bag. “Would you like some curry? It will not help me to keep it all now.”

“Oh that sounds wonderful!” Juanelle said.

He handed over the plate and a pair of chopsticks. He watched her wiggle in her stool and loom over her meal. She stopped before digging in, raised her plate and smiled. “To getting out of this forsaken cold very soon!” she called.

Beedle laughed and clicked his plate against hers. “Indeed! May not another snowflake settle on our persons!”

They took their first bite at the same time. Beedle understood why it wouldn’t warm him right away. There was spice for certain. It was so hot that he felt it all the way into his stomach, but the rice balanced it out. Then the spicy flavor faded into a grainy sweetness that made the cheap meat taste like prime cut. He closed his eyes like blocking out his eyesight would make it taste even better.

“By the Goddesses!” Juanelle shouted.

“This might be the best dish I’ve ever made.” Beedle agreed.

But when he looked, the curry had been set on the stool. Juanelle was already rushing past him. He turned and felt great joy. The Ranger had arrived! The stable owner, Varke, was shaking his head in disbelief. The Ranger was mounted upon nothing less than the skeleton of a horse. It’s bones floated near each other, tiny gaps visible at the joints. It’s eyes glowered with the dark magic of monsters; a ring of purple on the outside, red in the middle layer, and a core of glowing orange. It’s tail hair still flicked at irritation from the light snowfall. If it was anyone but the Ranger, Beedle would feel panic and terror. As it was he smiled with awe.

“I told you Varke!” Juanelle hooted pulling out a notepad, “I told you they existed! Marie’s Prize for Literature here I come!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I ran out of steam and dropped off the map for a while. Hopefully I can find a good round ending :)
> 
> ~~Via Vi

**Author's Note:**

> 4/27
> 
> cpt 8 posted


End file.
